


The 14th Century

by DarkmoonSigel



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley Hates the 14th Century (Good Omens), Drunk idiots, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, the 14th century
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 14:00:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20427134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkmoonSigel/pseuds/DarkmoonSigel
Summary: Crowley hates the 14th century, but never really says why. Let’s explore that.





	The 14th Century

**Author's Note:**

> History lesson- the Great Famine was from 1315-1317, but it took to about 1322 for everyone to kinda recover from that. The change in weather patterns was caused by a Little Ice Age. 
> 
> The Black Death happened some time later, around 1347 to 1351. Symptoms include your lymph nodes turning into egg sized pockets of smelly pus. 
> 
> The Peasant’s Revolution was in 1381, and it lasted from May to November. A lot more people died. 
> 
> The Italian Renaissance kicked off around this time though, and handkerchiefs were invented by King Richard II. Petrarca created the model of lyrical poetry, and Dante did Dante things.

“The 14th century!”

Was any other time period spoken of with such open distain, Aziraphale wondered to himself, watching his demon counterpart about to launch himself into a well-worn rant about his general dislike for the 14th century. It was like the era had personally shown up uninvited to a house party, and taken a shit in the kitchen sink. 

“Well, what about it?” Aziraphale asked, pouring them some more wine. They were very comfortably situated in the bookshop’s backroom so the angel was ready to commit to this conversation for the long haul. 

“What?” Crowley’s complaining unexpectedly interrupted. The angel had never asked for details before. 

“The 14th century. You constantly go on about it like you’ve had a row with it, but you’ve never given a reason to as of why.” Aziraphale pointed out. “All I know about it is that you don’t like it, you’ve never liked it, and it will forever remain the pinnacle of disappointment for you.”

“You lived through it too. You would know. You had to go and become the Principality of England around then.” Crowley muttered darkly, collapsing back onto the couch that both thought of as his. The demon slept on it enough. 

“That’s hardly my fault. It’s not like I had an Eastern Gate to preside over anymore.” Aziraphale sighed, “I’m beginning to think that we had vastly different experiences with the era, my dear.”

“I know you were there for the Black Death. We worked shoulder to shoulder in the trenches on that one.” Crowley grimaced. The lines had definitely blurred those terrible years, no one at home offices keeping track of anything because they could barely keep up with the incoming dead. 

“Ghastly.” Aziraphale sighed, hoping that he’d never have to lance boils that big and smelly ever again. “Yes, but that was only four years out of a hundred. I also remember we popped down to Florence for a break after all that to help kick off the Renaissance Period together. I guided Petraraca along with his poetry, and you inspired Dante with visions of Hell.”

“Inspired? All I did was buy the guy a few drinks. He came up with all that on his own.” Crowley sputtered, making a face at the angel. “He would have found the reality of Hell quite disappointing. I truly doubt ‘do not lick the walls’ would have made it in beside ‘Love, which quickly arrests the gentle heart, seized him with my beautiful form’.”

“I wonder what he would have come up with for Heaven if I had met him.” Aziraphale mused. He quite liked inspiring artists, especially sculptors. He took a particular glee in randomly surprising Crowley whenever they visited museums. 

“Probably roughly the same thing, but with a different color palette. He was an odd one, Dante.” Crowley said, picking his own brain for more reasons to loathe the 14th century. “The Great Famine!”

“Oh dear, that was bad.” Aziraphale murmured, issuing quite the understatement. The famine had lasted about two years, but it taken another five for the land and people to somewhat recover.

Aziraphale recalled that it had all started with unusually heavy rain that began in most of Europe, around 1315. It continued to rain throughout the entire spring and well into the summer, all while the weather remained cool. Because of this, the harvests of grain could not ripen, entire crops mildewing to rot in the fields. Attempts were made. Desperate farmers brought grain indoors to dry out in urns and pots, but the straw and hay needed for animals could not be cured in such a fashion so in the end, there was no feed for the livestock. 

As the animals died, people turned to salt in an attempt to preserve some of the meat, but the wet weather once again proved to be detrimental. Salt from brine was impossible to get because it could not evaporate. 

It rained for two more years, by which time crime and disease ran rampant, and cannibalism and infanticide were secretly commonplace. Even the King and his courts starved. There was simply not enough food for everyone. 

“Ya think! It was miserably cold and wet.” Crowley said, giving up on the wine for some much warmer scotch. “The Peasant’s Revolution!”

“You’re reaching now, darling. That one didn’t even last a year, and we were both well in Italy by then. The weather, for the most part, was lovely there.” Aziraphale dismissed, “Don’t be greedy guts. Be a love, and pour me some of that scotch too.”

“Still happened.” Crowley grumped though he did pour the angel a healthy tumbler. “Alright, name one good, noteworthy invention that came out of the 14th century?”

“Well, in China...” Aziraphale began to be waved off.

“Are you the Principality of China? No. Quit cheating, and think of something from here.” Crowley interrupted.

“Oh, bother...handkerchiefs?” Aziraphale scraped his brain to come up with anything. 

“Is that really your final answer? Handkerchiefs?” Crowley leveled a look at the angel.

“Afraid so. Everyone was too busy trying not to die. No time for innovations, I guess.” Aziraphale sighed, getting too drunk to play this game anymore.

“So, the 14th century...”

“Was miserable. You win.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Your comments raise a toast to the 14th’s lack of innovation. Your kudos quietly boo.


End file.
